


You Commandeered My Heart

by anoradh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Historical Inaccuracy, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue Mission, Romance, Sea Battles, Swords & Fencing, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoradh/pseuds/anoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a dashing English privateer, making life difficult for the Spanish. Castiel is an officer in the Navy Royal. They meet at a ball and sparks fly... literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunters of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this Supernatural pirate!AU a couple of years ago. I didn’t have a plan for it back then, so I just kept writing and I wasn’t happy with where it was going. Eventually, I became so frustrated with it that I more or less gave up on it. Now I’ve decided that I want to finish it and rewrite the last couple of parts, which I hated. I have most of the story planned out in my head, but there are still details that are unclear. 
> 
> I don’t know how long it’ll take me to finish this fic. Knowing myself, probably too long. Therefore, **I make no promises about when or even if this story will be finished.** Consider yourself warned! I have decided to make the chapters short, so that I'm hopefully able to update more often. For some reason, shorter chapters seem less daunting to write.
> 
> I have done some (quite a lot of) research for this fic, but there are still a lot of historical inaccuracies and factual errors. Some of them are deliberate, others are due to sheer ignorance. Although many of the places within this story exist/have existed, I have chosen not to try to place the story within any actual, specific historical period. The language and the attitudes of the characters, especially, are not in accordance with the imagined time and setting, nor are they meant to be. In short, **if you’re looking for a fic that’s historically accurate, this probably isn’t it.**
> 
> The story is inspired in part by the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ -films, in part by the computer game _Sid Meier’s Pirates!_ and in part by my own imagination. The characters, of course, belong to the creators of _Supernatural_.
> 
> Also, let me just say that concrit is always welcome. :-)

"Captain! Captain!"

The First Lieutenant's voice was breathless and terrified as he came running up to the quarterdeck. His face was pale and his eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of his skull. This wasn't an uncommon look for him, but today he looked even more frightened than usual.

The Captain of _El Fantasma Blanco_ lowered his spyglass, with which he had been searching the horizon in front of them, and surveyed the Lieutenant coldly. He did not approve of emotions on his ship; he had, in fact, expressly forbidden them, and for his senior officer to disobey his command so brazenly was an absolute outrage. He was just contemplating a fitting punishment, whether the cat o' nine tails was enough or if this called for more drastic measures, when the man continued, "Captain, the lookout has caught sight of a ship off the starboard stern. It looks like _The Impala_ , sir!"

All thoughts of whipping and keelhauling were driven out of the Captain's head by those words, along with every drop of blood. _The Impala_! The most infamous pirate ship to hunt these haunted waters, the stuff of nightmares for any Spanish sailor. Captained by the most ruthless man in this hemisphere and crewed by men as immoral and bloodthirsty as he was, it preyed on Spanish trade ships and war galleons alike, slowly bleeding the profits and the honour out of the Spanish navy, drop by agonising drop. No ship caught in its inexorable sights had ever escaped and few had survived its scourge.

At least no ship had escaped as of yet. The Captain of _El Fantasma Blanco_ squared his shoulders against the cold grip of terror that clutched his stony heart and made a decision. There was no point in running. The black sloop now visible to the naked eye as a shadow cleaving through the waters in their wake was one of the fastest ships in the Caribbean. Able to cross shallows as well as depths it could cut through shoals that would founder the larger, heavier war galleon. No, if they ran, they would only prove an easier target.

No other choice for it then but to, "Stand and fight!" the Captain concluded aloud.

The First Lieutenant stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Captain?" His voice quivered with uncertainty and an unmistakable hope that he'd heard wrong. If they did survive this, the Captain decided that the first thing he would do would be to have the man thrown overboard to the sharks. Either that or leave him stranded on one of the many still deserted islands in this area. Perhaps he could find some friendly tribe of cannibals willing to entertain a guest for dinner.

With an evil smirk that caused the First Lieutenant's face to turn an ashen grey and his lower lip to tremble, the Captain repeated slowly and clearly, "We're going to stand and fight! Turn the ship around! It's time we rid these waters of this infernal plague."

*****

"I think they're turning around!" Sam's voice was amused and he grinned behind the spyglass pressed to one of his eyes. Dean was happy to see that his brother had finally learned to take pleasure in their job. The first year that Sam had spent on-board _The Impala,_ his sad puppy-eyes and wistful smile whenever anyone mentioned port had made it clear that he still longed for the "normal" life that he had been forced to give up.

Now, three years later, Sam was almost as eager to hunt down enemy ships as Dean was. The hunt was in his blood and there was no resisting its lure. The rush of adrenaline, the crews' shouts and jeers, the cannons firing, the ships crashing together, the ringing of steel against steel as swords were drawn... It was the biggest thrill in the world!

Of course, it only became better when the other ship decided to face the odds and fight against their inevitable fate. No true hunter found pleasure in killing a sitting duck. No, it was in the challenge of slaying a fierce predator that the honour lay and this time, it looked as though they'd cornered themselves a lion.

"All right, men!" Dean called out. "It's high time to ready to those cannons!"

His command echoed along the deck and the already busy crew almost fell over themselves, hurrying to obey. Dean turned to Sam. "Ready, Sammy?"

His brother nodded, still grinning widely and for once not objecting to the nickname. Walking over to the stairs that led down from the quarterdeck, he made his way onto the main deck and began navigating smoothly among the bustling crew, overseeing their work. Dean remained standing on the quarterdeck, keeping a watchful eye on his crew and calling out the occasional orders.

"Rufus, round shots to begin with. We don't need to spare the ship. This one is going down."

"Aye, aye, Captain!"

"Bobby, get those kegs moving before I stuff you in one and throw it overboard!"

"I'd like to see you try - erm, I mean, aye, aye, Captain... Idjit... Sir!"

"Gordon, I keep telling you: Save the bundle shots for when we're closer! Listen to Rufus!"

"Aye, aye, Capt'n!"

"Ellen, you keep telling me you can steer this ship as well as any man! Now prove it!"

"Aye, aye, Captain! Then will you ask your giant of a brother to stop breathing down my neck?"

"Only when you get your fool daughter out from under our feet! Get back down below deck, Jo! I've no time to protect your cute little behind!"

"Aye, aye, Captain Pig!"

"Bad luck to have a woman on-board, Captain, let alone two!"

"Don't I know it, Ash! You want to try throwing them off?"

"Hell no, Captain, sir!"

"Didn't think so! Keep up the good work, men!"

"And women!"

"Joanna Beth!"

"Aye, aye, Mum! I'm going!"

Satisfied that everyone knew what they were doing, Dean stood back and watched his crew work. He knew that his last-minute orders were largely unnecessary. After all this time that they had served together, the crew was highly autonomous. Still, he liked to be among them at the beginning of a fight, making himself seen and heard. Years of watching his father run a ship had taught him that few things heightened crew morale as having their Captain present and active when going into battle. It was why they followed him, because they knew that he would always be the first one into the fray and the last one to retreat.

His musings were suddenly interrupted by a loud boom and a shout, "Cannon fire!"

Hurriedly raising his eyes, Dean saw the black balls soar through the air towards them, but before he even had time to react, _The Impala_ swerved, deftly slicing through the waves as though she were a part of them, until they were no longer in the line of fire.

"Nice sailing, Ellen! Men, our friends over there have offered us their salute. Are we really so rude as to not return it?"

Grins broke out across the ship as the men recognised his order to engage. Rufus's cry of "Fire!" echoed through the air, swiftly followed by the roar of their own cannons.

*****

The battle that followed was swift, bloody and devastating - at least for the Spaniards. When it was all over, the Spanish Captain, a cowardly fellow who'd done his best to stay hidden during the fighting and who had then tried to abandon ship, knelt at the point of Sam's cutlass. His First Lieutenant, who had displayed far more honour and bravery, knelt at his side with Bobby's flintlock pistol aimed at his head. What remained of the Spanish crew had been surrounded and were sitting in a shuddering huddle in the middle of their main deck, awaiting their judgement. Some were weeping, others glared defiantly at their conquerors, while others still just stared blankly in front of them.

Dean knew what they were expecting, knew his reputation for leaving no survivors. He had helped cultivate it, after all, knowing that notoriety was a pirate's best weapon. How many ships had surrendered as soon as they recognised the sleek, black sloop and read the name on the escutcheon? Contrary to rumour, however, Dean was definitely one of the most merciful pirates ever to sail the Caribbean and the crew had but little to fear from him. Those who would not join his own crew would be set adrift in lifeboats along one of the main trade routes, where another ship would be sure to find them.

As for the Captain and his First Lieutenant, however, that was another matter entirely. Dean was so tired of seeing crews like these, beaten down and worn out, driven to work beyond their limits through fear and pain. It always seemed to be the same on all the ships they boarded, regardless of size or nationality. The royal navies would find some sadistic megalomaniac to captain their crews, then turned a blind eye on the atrocities committed on-board their ships, as long as they produced results. Then they wondered why some of their crews mutinied, when the real wonder was why so many of them did not. If Dean had tried to captain _The Impala_ with anything resembling "navy discipline," he'd have been walking the plank long ago.

Looking down at the snivelling mess of a man that posed as Captain of _El Fantasma Blanco_ , Dean was filled with nothing but contempt. The snivelling coward had actually tried to run, leaving his crew behind. Sighing heavily, Dean turned towards his men and called out, "Gordon!" When Gordon came up to him, Dean gestured towards the Captain. "Have fun!" he said.

The Captain, while unable to understand the words, plainly understood the gesture, which was emphasised by Gordon's widening grin and cruel gaze. Casting aside any shred of dignity, he threw himself at Dean's feet, sobbing and gibbering in terror. This was the bit that Dean hated. It always made him feel weak. He raised one hand at Gordon, who was evidently expecting it, since his grin had transformed into an aggravated frown.

"Wait!" Dean told him.

Hesitating, he turned to look at Sam, who gave him a complicated face involving eyebrow-wriggling, lip-quirking and nose-twitching, as well as a number of other things Dean could not begin to define. The message seemed to be, "You're my brother and I will always stand beside you. You are also our Captain and the decision of what to do with this vermin belongs to you. However, I would like to remind you that we should not lower ourselves to his level." Sam had a very expressive face. He also had a very annoying habit of concurring with that pesky little voice in Dean's head that he had labelled "Conscience! Do not open at risk of appearing human!" With an even heavier sigh, Dean waved a growling Gordon away and turned to his Quartermaster.

"Bobby," he said. "You wouldn't happen to have any job befitting a former Captain of the Spanish Navy, would you?"

Bobby twirled his grizzled beard contemplatively. "You know, now that you mention it, Garth has mentioned something about needing a hand peeling spuds. I think that might do well to begin with."

Dean shrugged. "It'll have to. All right, men, gather them up and bring them over to _The Impala_. Bobby, take some men below and see if there's any loot worth keeping. Sam, have a look at _The Impala_ and let me know what the damage is. Also, tell Ellen to plot a course of Port Royal. I think we've deserved a bit fun after this, don't you?"

Hearing his words, the crew let out a loud "Huzzah!" and hurried to comply with his orders. While overseeing their work, Dean allowed himself to get lost in ideas of his less pleasant prospects once they reached port. It was time to see Governor Zachariah again and report on his progress. These meetings were definitely the downside of having obtained a Letter of Marque.

Still, if he was lucky, Anna would be there. The Governor's beautiful niece and ward took pleasure in shocking the stuck-up prigs that made up Port Royal's aristocracy and she had made it a habit to invite Dean along to their balls whenever he came into port. Dean did not particularly enjoy dancing, but he did enjoy the looks on those powdered and rouged faces when they saw him among them, especially since they could not openly object. He was there by Anna's invitation and an insult against him was perceived as an insult against her, which was something that no one who wanted to keep well with Governor could afford. Sometimes Dean loved the intricate games of polite society, specifically when he could use them against its players.

Smirking to himself, Dean went to help his crew carry the barrels of fine wine that they had found in _El Fantasma Blanco's_ cargo hold over to _The Impala_.


	2. An Officer and a Pirate

Castiel stood in a corner of the Governor's great ballroom, sipping a glass of expensive wine and watching the dancing couples twirling around to "The Devil's Dream". He hated these formal affairs, avoided them whenever he could, just as he hated most social events. They made him feel awkward and out of place. He'd much rather be on-board his ship, doing what he did best, which was certainly not chatting up young debutantes and charming their mothers. He knew how to command a crew and lead men into battle. What he did not know was how to feign interest in matters that did not concern him and that held no obvious significance. He knew that there were women out there more than capable of capturing his interest. The trouble was that those women were often too strong and independent to suit Zachariah's purposes and so they would never be invited to one of the Governor's balls. Castiel could not help but envy them for that. Unfortunately, Uncle Zachariah had insisted that his nephew would attend this ball, no doubt hoping that Castiel would finally form an fruitful alliance with one of Port Royal's noble families, and Castiel could not refuse a direct order. So here he was, bored out of his mind and counting the minutes until he could leave.

Glancing around, he caught sight of his cousin Gabriel dancing with the fair-haired beauty that was his lady for the evening. Castiel could not help but smile as he watched Gabriel attempt an elaborate flourish in the dance, which naturally failed utterly, but which caused the lady to trip and fall into Gabriel's waiting arms. Catching Castiel's eye, Gabriel winked at him, before returning his attention to his giggling and blushing partner. Castiel had no doubt how the evening would end for the two of them.

Beside the playful couple, another couple was dancing more sedately and far more gracefully. They moved with the practised ease of lovers, smoothly following each other's steps and anticipating each other's moves. Watching them, Castiel's chest ached with something akin to envy. The lady's bright red hair shone like fire in the flickering candlelight and her pale skin, perfectly fair without either cream or powder, looked almost luminescent, giving her a fey appearance. Her partner was a handsome young man with bright green eyes and the unfashionably tan skin that set him apart as a man of the sea. His long, brown hair was tied back with a narrow ribbon and he wore clothes that were well-fitting, but certainly not in accordance with fashion. Based on what he knew about the man, Castiel did not doubt that it was intentional.

He waited until the dance was over, before moving towards them. The lady caught sight of him almost immediately and led her partner over to meet him with a huge smile on her lovely face. "Castiel," she greeted him warmly. "It's been too long! Why didn't you tell me you were in town?"

Castiel bent down to kiss her proffered cheek. "Hello, sister," he said. "You're looking beautiful, as always."

She gave him a sly look, obviously aware that he had deliberately ignored her question, but willing to overlook it for now. Instead, she turned to her partner. "Dean," she said, "you remember my brother Castiel?"

The man bowed his head in greeting, his eyes glittering beneath respectfully lowered lids. "Of course," he said. "An honour, as always, Lieutenant-Commander!"

Castiel could not suppress a wave of pleasure at hearing that the man remembered what rank he had held at their last meeting. He had not thought himself important enough to make a lasting impression. Returning the bow, he corrected the man and wondered if he would still remember the next time they met. "Commodore, actually," he said. “How are you, Captain Winchester? Enjoying yourself, I trust?"

"In such company, how could I not?" the privateer replied with a flirtatious grin at his lady, earning himself a laugh and a reproachful slap on the arm.

"Ignore him, Cas," Anna said. "He's full of empty flattery."

“True,” Dean admitted, “but with you, I don't need it. The truth is a far better compliment.”

Anna gave him a stern look, shaking her head and tutting. "You forget yourself, Captain!” she said. “You're not actually supposed to court me, only frighten off other men from doing so."

Dean bowed deeply, placing a hand on his chest, though the smile that curved his lips belied his sincerity. "As you wish. I'll do my best to restrain myself, but it won't be easy."

"I'm sure," Anna murmured, casting an amused glance at Castiel.

Castiel struggled to return it, but his dark mood, which had momentarily been dispersed by the radiance that was his sister, had returned as he listened to their light-hearted flirting. This was why he tried to avoid these events. He would never have the easy manners or casual charm to bewitch anyone the way Dean did so naturally. Just being around the other man made him feel unsophisticated and out of place, though rightfully it ought to be the other way around. Castiel had grown up in this world. Dean had only recently been allowed inside as something of a gate-crashing visitor. Yet Dean was the one who moved around the room as if he owned it, while Castiel skulked in the shadows.

Telling himself that it wasn’t the other man’s fault that he was so damn charming and thereby made Castiel feel so inadequate, he forced a smile. He tried to remember why he had thought it a good idea to come speak to them, but could not come up with anything. At least nothing that he was willing to acknowledge. He wished he could blame it on a desire to speak to his sister, but it wasn't on her face that his eyes were fixed, nor was it her attention that he so enviously coveted. Unfortunately, it was obvious that the couple had eyes only for each other and Castiel decided that it was time to beat a hasty retreat.

"I fear I'm intruding," he said politely. "Go back to your merriment. Anna, I will see you tomorrow."

He turned around to go back to the shadows of his secluded corner, where he could lick his wounds in peace until he could escape altogether, but Anna stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Oh no, you don't," she said. "You're going to dance! No objections!" - as he opened his mouth to protest - "I won't have my brother standing around looking dull and foolish. You are going to dance with at least five women at this ball." She took his hand and began dragging him towards the middle of the dance floor. "Honestly, Castiel, how are we ever going to find you a wife if you insist on hiding away on that ship of yours and never begin seen in public? You're such a good man and very handsome, too, but who will ever notice if you don't put yourself out there? It's time you make an effort."

Resigned to his fate and left with no other choice, Castiel allowed himself to be led out onto the dance floor. He threw an apologetic glance at Dean and shrugged to indicate his helplessness. The man's face had darkened slightly as Anna spoke, but he answered Castiel's unspoken apology with a bright grin and raised eyebrows that seemed to say, "Women!"

As he took his place opposite the partner that Anna had chosen for him, Castiel could not resist following Dean with his eyes. He admired the manner in which the man moved through the room, meeting outraged glares with saucy smiles and poorly disguised whispers with cheerful greetings. Nothing seemed to faze him and Castiel wondered how he had gained such impervious self-assurance. He actually seemed to take pleasure in the other guests’ disdain. Castiel had never been one to worry much about what other people thought of him, but both his upbringing and his chosen career had taught him to live by the rules. He doubted that he would ever have the nerve to flout them as openly as Dean did.

When the music began, Castiel lost sight of Dean through the throng of dancers, but although the dance and his partner ought to have held his interest, he found that his thoughts wandered. As during their few previous meetings, the privateer had invaded his mind and Castiel was filled with the all too familiar desire to learn more about the man. It was an unnerving feeling and all the more so because Castiel could find no rational explanation for his interest. The man was no one, so why did he fascinate him so? The thought continued to plague him through both his dances with his partner, distracting him so that he was even less attentive to her doubtlessly scintillating conversation than usual. Uncle Zachariah would not be pleased.

*****

Dean ambled slowly through the gathered assembly, trying to take his usual delight in the various reactions that his presence engendered, but it was no good. His mind was too distracted. He ought to have known that Castiel would be there. The man always turned up whenever Dean had stopped expecting to see him. He had been absent from the last three balls that Dean had attended, clearly too occupied with working his way up the ranks in the Navy Royal. Anna had complained about it last time, how her brother was always away, always too busy with his work to find the time to settle down.

That last part did not worry Dean too much. He was rather relieved that Castiel had never done as Anna so clearly wished and chosen one of her friends to take as his bride. The thought of Castiel – serious, intelligent Castiel – with some vapid baroness on his arm, discussing the next shipment of silk or the latest fashions to reach them from the mainland, was enough to turn his stomach. Such a life would never make a man of Castiel's disposition happy.

No, if he ever did marry, it ought to be to someone like Jo: a free spirit who was not afraid to choose her own path and who could challenge him to do the same. Someone who could penetrate his stony façade and make him smile once in a while; who could bring colour to his cheeks and passion into his eyes. Someone to make him feel. Although come to think of it, Jo was not the right type of woman for him either. She was too independent, too caught up in her own war against the patriarchal society that oppressed her to take notice of anyone else. She would not recognise Castiel for who he truly was and so would not be able to draw him out. No, she was not the right person for him.

Neither was the girl who was dancing with him now, coquettishly tossing her hair and letting out false-ringing laughter at everything he said, while her eyes remained cold and calculating. As the nephew of the Governor, the youngest son of an earl and an officer of the Navy, Castiel was certainly high-value loot. Dean just hoped he'd be captured by the right kind of pirate.

Feeling suddenly vexed and out of patience with the whole spectacle that made up this foreign world of titles and riches, Dean turned on his heel and made his way towards the patio-doors. He needed some fresh air and privacy and the Governor's gardens would be able to provide both.

King's House, as the Governor's residence was called, was located almost in the middle of Port Royal, opposite the old church, and was surrounded by a high wall to keep out the various lowlifes that frequented the town. Made of brick and nine feet high, the wall was nonetheless easy to climb, due to the many cracks that had appeared in its façade. The top of the wall was flat and smooth as a stone bench and sitting atop it, Dean could see past Fort Carlisle and out to the open sea.

Castiel always did this to him. The man had a way of getting under his skin and disturbing his thoughts, until he was all that Dean could think about. There was something about his piercing gaze and solemn manners that made Dean feel as if he could see right through him. The strange thing was that it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience. The only downside, really, was that it didn't work both ways. Castiel was still one big mystery to Dean. He wondered what went on behind that blank mask of a face, what thoughts and dreams lurked beneath the calm surface.

He had tried talking to Sam about it, but his brother had only laughed and accused him of having a crush. Not that Dean had needed Sam to tell him that. That much had become glaringly obvious after his very first meeting with Castiel, when Dean had spent weeks lost in daydreams about running his fingers through long, dark hair and kissing full and slightly chapped lips. Somewhere in some deeply buried part of his brain, Dean even had a suspicion that his feelings for Castiel went beyond a simple crush, but that was too troubling even to think about. What he needed was advice about how to deal with it.

Castiel was out of his reach. Dean knew it. It wasn't just that he was a man. After all, it wasn't unheard of for two men, accustomed to long months at sea far from any women, to alleviate their loneliness together. Such behaviour, once indulged, had a tendency to continue even on land, especially in a town of such lax morals as Port Royal. Dean knew from experience that there was plenty of company to be found here, both male and female, for a lonely sailor. Unfortunately, such company had long since stopped being able to cure his own strain of loneliness. He feared only one person held such a panacea and Dean doubted that he would be willing to share it.

The trouble was that Castiel didn't seem to be the type to indulge in any vices, whether from loneliness or any other weakness. There were no discernible cracks in his walls to give Dean a footing. When he was with Castiel, Dean felt like he was constantly falling and it was a sensation he was not finding particularly enjoyable. He wanted a hold on the other man to equal the one Castiel had on him, but he feared that he would always be left grasping at air.

Now thoroughly depressed, Dean closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Perhaps if he hid out here for long enough, Castiel would be gone by the time he went back inside and Dean could spend a couple of months being miserable over him before finally being able to put him out of his mind again. Admittedly, it was a rather cowardly solution to his problems and Sam would most certainly berate him had he been there, but Dean believed in picking his battles and he simply could not afford to keep losing to Castiel.

"I hear you captured _El Fantasma Blanco_."

Startled at the sound of another man's voice, Dean raised his head and spun around so quickly that he almost fell off the wall. He was even more surprised when Castiel stepped out from under the branches of the tree he had been leaning against. Dean wondered how long he had been standing there, bearing witness to Dean's submission to angst on his behalf. He hoped that it hadn't been too long, since it wasn’t exactly one of his proudest moments. It was especially humiliating to have been caught out by Castiel, who surely had not know such a moment of emotional weakness in his life.

"Word travels fast," Dean answered Castiel’s comment, doing his best to act casual, while trying to get his heartbeat back to normal.

Castiel shrugged and gave him a wry half-smile. "It does when it concerns the infamous Captain Winchester. I hear the Spaniards are offering quite a reward on your head. I'm almost tempted to turn you over to them myself."

Surprised, but pleased, at this uncharacteristic display of humour, Dean could not suppress a laugh. "You could try," he said, "but you'd have to catch me first."

Only once the words had left his mouth did he realise how flirtatious they sounded. It didn't help that his mind was now busy enjoying the fantasy of being chased by Castiel. Somehow, Dean doubted it would be a very long chase. 

"Ah yes," the other man answered and Dean was almost too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice the sudden shadow that passed across his face. "I knew there was a problem somewhere. Me, catch the elusive Dean Winchester? I may as well attempt to pin down the waves."

Dean bit his lip. If only Castiel had known how closely he was following Dean’s own thoughts. Was he really naïve enough not to realise how those words sounded? Here was an opening if ever Dean had heard one. The only question was if he was bold enough to take advantage of it. The last thing he wanted was to drive Castiel away, especially after he had apparently come looking for him.

At the same time, there was the question of why he had come. He had obviously left the party, where his sister was waiting to introduce him to her lovely friends, all of whom would undoubtedly be more than willing to fall into his arms, to go in search of a man he hardly knew. Dean may be reading too much into the situation, but if ever there was a time to gamble, this seemed to be it.

"I'll think you'll find that when I'm hunted by the right person, I'm really not that difficult to catch."

There! That was as explicit as he dared to make it. If Castiel was interested, he would know to read the invitation in that. That is, if he wasn’t a complete simpleton. Dean just hoped that he hadn't read the other man wrong and if he had, that Castiel would be open-minded enough not to take offence.

Apparently, there was some interest there, because Castiel took another couple of steps forward, his eyes fixed on Dean's face with an intensity that was unusual even for Castiel. His voice was slightly tense when he asked, "And who is the right person?"

Dean shrugged. His heart was pounding fiercely somewhere near his Adam's apple and his stomach seemed ready to take flight, what with all the butterflies practising acrobatics in there. When he spoke, he hardly recognised his own voice; it had gone so deep and gruff. "Well," he said, "I've always had a certain weak spot for blue-eyed, dark-haired Commodores of the Navy Royal. I don‘t suppose you happen to know any?"

At that, Castiel honest-to-god grinned, a dazzling grin that transformed his whole face and made Dean's head spin, and took yet another step forward, until he was standing directly below Dean, staring up at him with shining eyes. "I‘m not sure," he said, "but I'll be sure to tell my fellow Commodores. I'm sure they'll all find ways to blacken their hair for the chance to catch you. You'll start a new fashion."

Dean leaned down, feeling almost giddy with excitement and sudden daring, and twirled a loose strand of Castiel's hair around his fingers, before tucking it behind his ear, turning the touch into a caress. "Did I forget to mention," he said with mock-regret, "that I will settle for nothing less than the Governor's nephew and the son of an Earl?"

Castiel's eyes closed momentarily and he leaned into Dean's touch. When he looked up again, his eyes were blazing furnaces of heat. "Really?" he said, his voice even rougher than usual. "In that case, I may know just the person and I know for a fact he‘d be more than willing to take on the challenge."

Dean smiled, unable to believe that this was happening, and reached down a hand to help Castiel up onto the wall. The man hesitated only a moment, before taking the proffered hand and allowing himself to be pulled up to sit next to Dean.

*****

This was not what Castiel had had in mind when he'd left the ball and gone in search of Dean. He'd only wanted to talk to Dean in private, for once, to see if he could figure out the reason why the other man intrigued him so. It appeared as though he had discovered that reason.

Sitting next to Dean on the wall, his hand still clutched in a tight grip, Castiel felt as if he was caught in a dream – one from which he did not want to wake. His skin was tingling with Dean's proximity, his heart was racing and his blood was molten lava flowing through his veins.

They sat for several long moments, just staring at each other, both breathing heavily and undeniably unsteadily. Castiel desperately wanted to say something to break the heavy silence that had fallen between them, but the incendiary look in Dean's eyes seemed to have driven the words of the English language right out of his head. Fortunately, conversation did not seem to be what Dean had in mind. As Castiel struggled to find something to say, Dean simply raised his free hand and put it against Castiel's cheek, his eyes still hungrily drinking in Castiel‘s face. "Shhh," he said soothingly and Castiel was more than happy to oblige. He raised his own hand and put it over Dean's. Turning his head slightly, he brushed his lips against Dean’s palm, forcing himself to hold Dean‘s burning gaze and knowing that his own was as dark with desire.

Dean made a broken sound and swallowed visibly. "Cas," he whispered and the nickname sent a fresh wave of heat through Castiel's body. Feeling suddenly reckless, he leaned forward, slowly closing the space between them. He needed something to happen right now, before he spontaneously combusted or before someone came and drove them apart. He did not think he would survive being separated from Dean; not until he’d made absolutely certain that Dean felt this too, whatever this was.

"Dean," he whispered, letting his desperation color his voice, and watched as green eyes darkened even further and fell to his lips. "Please!"

Dean's face was now mere inches from Castiel and Castiel had to focus on Dean's lips to keep from going cross-eyed. His breath caught when a pink sliver of tongue appeared to wet those lips and involuntarily his own tongue copied the motion. They were close, so close, and Castiel could feel Dean's breath against his mouth. He had to close his eyes and draw a shuddering breath of his own to steady himself, as their hands wandered, clutching, caressing, exploring. Castiel's heart felt ready to burst and his head was swimming and this was it, this was it, this was it...

BOOM!

A sudden explosion rent the silence. The night was filled with cries and the sound of people running. Cursing, Dean broke away from Castiel, looking towards the harbour, from whence the sound had come. Castiel did the same. There was no mistaking it. They were under attack!


	3. Promises Made

The sound of running footsteps coming closer along the street outside the wall made Dean realise that they didn't have much time. Whoever was approaching would come round the corner any moment now and find them sitting vulnerable upon the wall. Friend or foe, Dean preferred to meet them on level ground, where he would be less exposed and have more room to manoeuvre.

He cursed his decision to leave his sword at the ship, but he knew from past experience that the Governor never allowed weapons to be brought into his home. Considering what a bastard the Governor was and combining that with the amounts of alcohol that were usually consumed at his parties, it indicated a wise sense of self-preservation, but it had always made Dean feel uncomfortably defenceless. It was so typical that whoever was attacking Port Royal had not only chosen to do so while Dean was in port, but also on the one evening when he was on his own without his crew and unarmed to boot. Curse his perverted sense of humor, which caused him to take such delight in provoking others. He should never have accepted Anna's invitation.

Although if he hadn't, he wouldn't have been sitting here with Castiel, finally secure in the knowledge that his desire for the other man was most certainly reciprocated. Whatever happened, that knowledge would make it all worth it. If only the attackers could have waited a few moments longer, Dean would almost have been content to die tonight, having experienced all of life's greatest pleasures. As it was, he was prepared to fight to the last drop in order to live long enough to finish what they had begun here tonight. There was absolutely no possibility that he was going down without knowing the taste of Castiel's lips and the feel of his skin against his own.

Glancing over at his companion, Dean saw that Castiel's sharply defined jaw was set in determination and that his eyes, which moments ago had been clouded with lust, were once again bright and keen. It was obvious that he was weighing their options and formulating a strategy and for some reason, Dean found this devastatingly sexy. He had to force himself to look away in order to keep himself from pouncing on Castiel then and there, regardless of their current predicament.

"Just so you know," he murmured, still not trusting himself even to glance at Castiel, "I'm going to kill the bastards who interrupted us and then I'm going to throw you up against this wall and ravish you until you can't even remember my name to scream it and you pass out from sheer pleasure. Just giving you fair warning!"

Then, without giving Castiel the time to respond, he grabbed the other man's hand and almost rolled backwards off the wall, dragging Castiel with him, so that they were standing behind the wall in the Governor's garden and listening as the footsteps drew near on the street outside. The owners of the feet stopped right opposite to where Dean and Castiel were hiding and seemed to hesitate.

"Oy," said a coarse voice, "this must be the Gov'nor's house."

"Aye," agreed a second, slightly nasal voice, "looks like it. Should we scale the wall?"

Hearing those words, Dean automatically began calculating their odds. He felt Castiel tense beside him and knew that he too was preparing to fight.

"Nah," a third voice said, this one smooth, yet icy. "I can't really see the Captain scaling that wall when there's a perfectly good front door, can you? I say we go and prepare the Governor for his arrival!"

The second voice laughed crudely. "You want to crash the Governor's ball?"

"We're crashing nothing," the third man said and Dean could hear the grin in his voice. "I've got my _invitation_ right here! I hope you gents have brought yours. Let's go!"

Laughing cruelly, the men walked away towards the front of the house. Dean waited a few moments to make sure that they weren't returning, before turning to Castiel. "Now what?" he said. "Without swords, we're helpless even against those jerks."

Castiel nodded, but he looked distracted and a bit wild. "I have to find Anna," he said. "If those men find out that she's the Governor's ward..."

He let the sentence trail off, but Dean understood well enough what he meant and he was right. Anna was in danger. Sweet, beautiful, kind Anna, who had invited him here at the risk of her own reputation. Anna, who had introduced him to Castiel. Anna, whom he had abandoned in favour of her brother.

"Come on," Dean said gruffly, "she can't be too difficult to find with that flaming hair of hers. Don't worry, she'll be fine!"

Castiel nodded, but he still looked distracted. When Dean moved to head back inside, he was stopped by Castiel's hand on his own and turned to look at him. Castiel stepped close within Dean's personal space and spoke directly into his ear, so that Dean could feel Castiel's hot breath brush against his skin, making him shiver. "Just so _you_ know, I'm going to hold you to that promise, however long it takes for us to rid ourselves of these fools. Then, when you're too tired to stand and too blissed out to think, I'm going to do the same to you."

With that, he began walking briskly towards the house, leaving Dean to pick up his jaw from the ground, reinsert his eyes in his skull and scurry after him like the lovesick puppy he had become.

*****

Inside the house, chaos reigned. The sounds of the attack had obviously penetrated the music and the general hubbub of the party, causing panic to spread among the guests. Everyone seemed to have gathered in the ballroom, where Governor Zachariah stood surrounded by people who were demanding to know what was happening. Little though Dean approved of the Governor, he had to admire the unconcerned calm and the nonchalant good-humour with which the man answered the questions.

"That was cannon fire!" a stout lady said, sounding absolutely scandalised.

"It was indeed, madam," Zachariah confirmed cheerfully.

"By my word, I say, we're under attack," an elderly gentleman said and received a hearty,

"How perceptive you are to notice!" from the Governor in reply.

"Now listen here, Zachariah, I demand to know what is happening!" a young prig exclaimed.

"If you really want to know, I suggest you open the front door and ask the men currently occupied with breaking it down," Zachariah told him. "I'm sure they can answer your questions much better than I can."

Dean caught Castiel's eye and saw his own thoughts reflected there. They needed to find Anna quickly, before the attackers got in, but it wouldn't be easy. Finding someone in this crowd would be like finding a needle in a haystack and that was assuming the needle was actually in the haystack. Chances were that Anna had left the room and gone to find somewhere more secluded, in which case she would be even more difficult to find.

"I'll look for her here," Dean called to Cas over the clamour of the would-be mob surrounding the Governor. "You should look anywhere else that she may be."

Cas nodded, but did not move. Instead he stared at Dean with a strange sort of intensity, as if he wanted to say something, but lacked the words. Dean thought he could read regret and a sense of loss in Castiel's eyes. He moved closer to the other man and, confident that the other people in the room were too focused on the Governor to pay attention to them, he lifted a hand and caressed Castiel's cheek. He was tempted to kiss those inviting lips, but he knew that if he did, he would not be able to stop, so instead he placed a soft kiss on Castiel's nose and could not suppress a fond smile when the other man crossed his eyes to watch the spot.

"We'll finish what we began here tonight, Cas," he said. "There's no chance I'm letting you go. I've wanted you for too long. But first we need to find your sister and take her somewhere safe. So go! I'll find you!"

Castiel's mouth twitched slightly upwards and he leaned forward to kiss Dean's cheek, whispering, "You'd better, or I'll come after you, no matter what obstacles are placed in my path. You've made me a promise and you will keep it."

With that, he spun around and began making his way through the throng, never once looking back. Dean wasn't as strong-willed. He watched the other man until he disappeared in the crowd, feeling a strange sense of foreboding. Shaking himself to rid his mind of those uncharacteristically dark thoughts, he turned around and began searching the room for Anna's fiery head.

*****

Once he'd left the ballroom, Castiel broke into a run. He dashed through the dark, empty hallway in the direction of the library, where he knew Anna liked to go when she'd grown weary of fending off unwanted suitors. Behind him, he heard a series of loud bangs that told him that the intruders were only moments from breaking down the door. He sent up a silent prayer that his sister would indeed be in her favourite room, since he knew that he would not have the time to look anywhere else.

He reached the big double-doors that led to the library and threw himself around the corner, almost skidding on the polished stone floor. There was a lit candelabrum on a table and it illuminated the area around it in a soft, flickering light, while leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Castiel's eyes were still not sufficiently accustomed to the light to make out more than the shape of the figure behind the table, but it was enough to determine that it was not Anna.

Castiel was about to demand an explanation as to what this person was doing in a part of the house not open to visitors, when the man leaned forward, allowing Castiel to see his face.

"Uncle Raphael? What are you doing here?"

The man inclined his head in a solemn greeting, his dark eyes cold and assessing as usual. Castiel could not remember ever seeing any warmth emanate from their black depths, nor could he recall any image of that hard face softened by a smile. Raphael was not exactly what you'd call jovial. As a child, Castiel had always been in absolute awe of him. Now that he was older, he still found him somewhat scary, but the fear was mingled with disdain. No one truly worthy of respect had to use intimidation to gain it. Of course, this was a concept that most of his family and the people that he worked with had yet to grasp and Castiel had long since given up hope that this would change any time soon.

"Castiel," Raphael said. "I could ask you the same thing. I didn't think you would be one to run and hide. Perhaps that promotion was granted to soon. The Navy does not appreciate cowards."

Castiel felt his face flush with indignation and he struggled to retain his composure. He reminded himself that this was typical of Raphael, always trying to bait others into losing their temper and doing something stupid. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to count to ten before answering, "I suppose it takes one to know one. I'm not the one lurking in the shadows, after all." Raphael's eyes widened in outrage, but Castiel did not wait for his reply. " If you'll excuse me, I need to find Anna."

A loud crash reached them from the hallway, as if to emphasise his words. His uncle gave him a cold smile, which looked more like a grimace and did not come anywhere near his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, so that his face was once again concealed by darkness. "If you're that worried about her, you should hurry, but if you ask me, I think these pirates are here for something a bit more _rewarding_ than dear, sweet Anna. Or should I say _someone_? Run along now, dear boy! Let's see if you can protect those you love!"

Castiel stared at him, his head spinning. What was he talking about? Then, with the force of a lightening strike, it hit him. "Dean!"

His mind was swirling with questions. How did Raphael know about him and Dean? How did he know the pirates were here for Dean? How had the pirates known that Dean would be here tonight? 

Those questions could wait, however. First he had to warn Dean. Without wasting another moment, he spun around and sped from the room, heedless of the danger he himself was in. A cold lump of ice had settled in his stomach, making him feel almost nauseous. What if he was too late?


	4. The Attack on Port Royal

A quick search convinced Dean that Anna was not in the ballroom. He went out into the hall, intending to go in search of Castiel to see if he had had better luck, but just then the front door finally yielded under the assault. A raucous group of men came bursting in, laughing and roaring. Outnumbered and unarmed, Dean had no choice but to step back into an alcove to hide and to hope that the intruders did not search the dark corners of the hall too closely.

The men strolled down the hall towards the archway that led into the ballroom, looking extraordinarily pleased with themselves. Their leader was a tall man with a thin, weather-beaten face and dirty clothes. Using the cutlass in his hand, he directed some of his men to search the rooms they passed, while the rest of them proceeded towards the ballroom. As they passed his alcove, Dean pressed himself against the wall and hardly dared to breathe. He needed to think of a way to get to Castiel without the pirates noticing.

The leader came last, having stopped to look inside a chest of drawers that stood in the hall. Just as he was walking past Dean's hiding-place, one of his men stuck his head out of a door further back in the hall.

”Captain!” he called. ”We’ve found something!”

The lecherous grin on his face, combined with the sounds coming from the room behind him of a woman protesting and men’s bawdy laughter, left no doubt in Dean’s mind of what the _something_ was that they had found. He bit back a string of curses and watched as the leader turned to the men that waited for him by the archway that led into the ballroom.

”Gentlemen, please," he admonished in a voice that was at once oily and hoarse. The mere sound of it made the fine hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up and sent a shiver down his spine. Without being able to explain how, he knew that this was not a man to be trifled with. ”We mustn’t keep the guests waiting. Go ask them if there are any donations they would like to make to our cause in exchange for say, their lives! I’ll be there in a moment to help argue our case.”

The men laughed cruelly, although Dean noticed that some of them looked a bit wild-eyed, as it the idea of their leader’s arguments was one they preferred not to contemplate. For about the thousandth time that night Dean thought with longing of his sword. He had a feeling that this was one man the world would not miss.

The men filed into the ballroom, which immediately erupted in screams and protestations. These were soon cut short by a single gunshot and replaced by the more hushed sounds of muffled crying and pleading. Dean also thought he heard the sound of metal clinking against metal and assumed that the pirates’ collection was going well. Dean honestly couldn’t care less. All his attention was focused on the room towards which the leader was walking and in which Anna was apparently still doing her best to ward off her assailants. From what he could hear, the men still seemed to consider her attempts at escape a sport, but Dean knew how quickly that could change and more violent methods be employed. The idea that the cruel captain was joining the play did nothing to allay his worries. In his mind, the captain was like a cat and Anna was nothing but a small, helpless mouse for him to play with before he decided to use her as an appetizer. Dean had to find a way to help her.

On silent feet, he crossed the hall and pressed himself up against the wall beside the door. From what he could tell, there seemed to be at least three men in there, plus the captain. Four men, likely all armed with cutlasses and guns, against one man who did not have so much as a knitting needle. How did he always find himself in these situations? He could almost see Sam shaking his head despairingly at him and hear Bobby’s resigned ”idjit” echo in his skull. He could also see the concern in Cas’s beautiful eyes at the thought of his sister in the hands of the attackers and hardly surprisingly, it was that image that tipped the scale. Whatever happened to him, he could not leave Anna to suffer at the hands of these animals. Cas would never forgive him and, more importantly, he would never forgive himself. He had no choice. Taking a deep breath, he plastered on an arrogant grin, and feigning a nonchalance he did not feel, he swaggered into the room.

The room was obviously a small parlour, with an open fireplace, a group of couches and armchairs, a small table, a piano and a couple of bookcases. Anna was standing pressed up against the wall behind the piano with a man on either side, enclosing her. When Dean entered, Anna looked up at him with wide eyes. He was impressed to see that she was neither crying, nor falling apart. She did look frightened, but she also looked angry. Dean felt a surge of pride. If there was one thing he’d always admired in Anna, it was her spirit, which was as vivid as her hair. He winked at her.

”Hey, sweetheart," he said. ”Sorry I’m late! This house, you know, I always get lost. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I see these gentlemen have been kind enough to keep you company.”

The men’s laughter had subsided the moment he entered the room. Looking both incredulous and enraged, they had all turned from Anna to look at Dean, which he supposed was a good thing, since that had been his aim. The only trouble was, this was as far as his plan went and he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He probably wouldn’t have been quite so worried, since this was what he had expected would happen, if the leader had looked as furious as his men. As it was, his smile had taken on a slightly manic aspect and he looked a lot like a cat that had been chasing a mouse and fallen into a vat of cream.

”Well, well, well," he said, stepping close to peer into Dean’s face, ”what have we here? If it isn’t the illustrious Captain Winchester. You honour us with your presence, Captain.”

”I’m sure I do," Dean said, struggling not to back away from the man and reclaim his personal space. ”Just as you offend me with yours. Now if you don’t mind, the lady and I have a prior engagement to go to. I’m sure you’ll find some other way to keep yourselves entertained. Anna?”

He held out his hand to Anna, who hesitated only for a moment before taking it and pressing past one of the men, who was too busy staring at Dean to stop her. Dean led her to the door and was almost beginning to think that he was going to get through this on sheer audacity, when the leader spoke again.

”Oh no, Captain Winchester! I don’t think so. I insist that you allow us to escort you to this… engagement of yours. After all, the streets are full of thieves and ruffians; there’s no telling what could happen, and you being unarmed and all. No, please, you really must come with us. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure that you make it to your _appointment_.”

*****

Castiel came hurtling through the hall just in time to see Dean and Anna being led through the front door by the pirates. Just as he was passing through the door, the last of the men turned around and saw him. He punched the arm of his closest companion and said something that Castiel could not hear, but which made the other man turn around and look at him. The man's reply made both the men laugh, before the second man hurried away to catch up with the group that was leading the prisoners away. The first man remained standing just outside the front door, presumably to keep Castiel from following. As Castiel approached, more warily now that he had been seen, the man grinned, revealing a black gap where his front teeth should have been, and drew his cutlass.

Seeing that there was no way around the man and that he had no choice but to fight him, Castiel drew his own small sword. He was glad now that as a relative to the Governor, he was exempt from the no-weapons rule that Zachariah enforced at his parties. Otherwise he would have been as defenceless as Dean must have been. He cursed his stupidity at leaving the other man alone and unarmed in the face of the attackers, but his mind had been solely focused on Anna and he had never even considered the idea that the pirates might hurt Dean. Of course, considering Dean’s ability to provoke even a rock to anger, this showed a remarkable lack of foresight on Castiel's part.

As he slowly and cautiously adopted his duelling stance, Castiel assessed his opponent. The other man looked fierce and brutal, with bulging muscles on his arms and torso, and a sort of mad glee in his eyes. No doubt he was a valuable asset during plunder raids and attacks on merchant ships, since most of the people he would have to face would not have much training and would consider his size and blood-thirst formidable traits in an opponent. Unfortunately for him, Castiel, who had been trained in the art of sword fighting since he had been a little boy and who had always practised with the sort of discipline only a lonely child can achieve, knew better than to fear him.

As was easily predicted, the duel did not last long. Castiel’s opponent, who had grinned when Castiel presented his fragile-looking sword and who attacked with all force and no technique, had been dismayed when Castiel easily avoided his lunges and replied with some well-timed thrusts of his own. He was caught off guard and so presented no challenge to Castiel’s coldly calculating moves. Admitting himself defeated, he fell to his knees in front of Castiel and bowed his head in surrender. Castiel did not even stop to ensure that he was arrested, before setting off again after Dean and his sister.

Navigating the streets was far more difficult than usual. It seemed the pirates had invaded the whole town and Castiel wondered how many of them there were. Everywhere he looked, it seemed, the defenders of Port Royal were engaged in duels and smaller battles. The innocent civilians, insofar as any of the people of Port Royal could be labelled such, had clearly fled and only a few people remained, either hiding behind whatever makeshift cover they could find or scrambling madly to get out of harm’s way. Some of the people Castiel passed called out to him, and once or twice he found himself drawn into the fighting, which slowed his progress even further, but mostly he ignored what was happening around him and focused on his swiftly fleeing quarry.

He finally caught up with them as they were crossing Lime Street and pressed himself against the wall of the nearest building to calculate his odds. It seemed the pirates were headed for the fish market in the south-western part of the town, which did not make much sense, since Castiel could still hear the roar of their ships’ cannons over by the North Docks and the replying rumble as Fort James returned fire. He could not remember the last time an assault this severe had been made on the town and in some distant part of his mind, he wondered again why the pirates had chosen this very night to attack and whether it had truly been a coincidence.

Obviously, the pirates had him severely outnumbered. Some of them had been separated from the group by the fighting in the streets, but it had not made any noticeable difference. Even assuming that most of them were as poor fighters as their friend back at King's House, there was no possibility whatsoever that Castiel would be able to take them all on and come out victorious.

However, this did not mean that he was going to refrain from trying. He could never just stand there and watch as they made off with the two people who mattered most to him in the world. Anna, as his lifelong companion and his only remaining family, naturally came first, but Castiel was startled to realise how much Dean had already come to mean to him. Despite how few and brief their encounters had been, Dean had somehow wormed his way into Castiel's heart as few people had done and Castiel did not doubt that in time, Dean may come to mean as much to him as Anna.

Still pressed against the wall and therefore hidden by shadows, Castiel quickly closed in on the group, his sword in hand. The leader seemed to be the tall man with the brown trousers and the white shirt. He walked with an understated swagger that spoke of confidence, bordering on arrogance, and a conviction that his men would follow him to the death. Castiel intended to put that to the test. If he was to have any chance of rescuing Anna and Dean, he would have to begin by taking down the leader. Hopefully, if he was fast enough, this would throw the others into enough confusion that the prisoners would be able to escape.

As the pirates passed between the buildings of the fish market to reach the harbour, Castiel readied himself to take action. He left the shadows and ran after them on silent feet, but before he could reach them, something happened to make him hesitate. Dean somehow managed to turn around and he looked straight at him. How he had known that Castiel was there, Castiel did not know, but it was obvious that he had and that he knew what Castiel was planning.

Holding Castiel’s gaze steadily, Dean shook his head almost imperceptibly to let him know that it wasn’t worth it. Then he glanced at the leader and the expression on his face almost made Castiel stumble in surprise. He looked wary, almost frightened, as if he wasn’t sure what the other man was capable of and he never wanted to find out. Castiel knew that a person who could put that expression on the infamous Captain Winchester’s face was not to be trifled with and so he fell back again, cursing at his own inability to save the prisoners.

They reached the harbour and Castiel saw where they were headed. South of the turtle crawles, a number of longboats were tied, with a man sitting on guard in each one. Remaining in the shadows, Castiel watched as the group spoke to the guards, laughing and slapping each other’s backs, seeming inordinately pleased with themselves. They acted as though they were on holiday and had all the time in the world, but Castiel could tell that there was a tension in the group, as if they were ready for an attack, and that it seemed to be emanating from the leader. Now that he was watching him more closely, Castiel could understand Dean’s assessment of the man. There was a sense of menace about him that somehow infected the air around him, spreading like a black cloud through the group.

Castiel found himself with no other alternative but to watch as the pirates climbed into the longboats. The prisoners were among the last to be pushed on-board, followed into their boat by the leader. Right as he was being pushed forward, Dean turned and swiftly and surely caught Castiel’s eyes again. This time, his gaze held a message that Castiel wasn’t sure how to interpret. Dean stared at him intently, then glanced down at his feet, then met Castiel’s eyes again.

This only lasted for a moment, however, before Dean was roughly shoved into the longboat beside Anna, who helped steady him while glaring at their captors. Castiel was almost overcome by a wave of pride and love for his sister, who was at once so strong and so caring. As he watched the longboats move like silent shadows through the water towards the pirate ships waiting for them, he made a silent vow to himself. Whatever it took, wherever they went, he would find them and he would make them taste his wrath. Whoever was responsible for this would live just long enough to learn to rue this day. Castiel would make sure of it.

Once the boats had disappeared from view, Castiel walked over to where the group had been standing. Dean had been trying to tell him something and he needed to figure out what. Looking down at where the other man had been standing, he saw something glint faintly in the light of the street lamps. Bending down, he discovered that it was an amulet. It was an ugly thing, consisting of a horned head worn on a leather string. Castiel had no idea what he was meant to do with it. Frustrated, he glared at the ground where it had been lying and gave a start. Something was written there, scraped into the dirt with the toe of a boot. It was half a word: IMPA~. Dean was telling him to find his crew.


	5. Family Don't End With Blood

Dawn came, grey and gloomy, and revealed in its pale light the destruction wrought by the pirates. It had been years since the town had suffered an attack this severe and hours after the small pirate fleet had left, the citizens were still reeling from the shock.

The buildings near the harbour were naturally the ones that had suffered the most damage: some of them were little more than smoking ruins, while others had gaping holes in their walls from the cannons. There were bloodstains and the odd body part littering the streets, but the thankfully few corpses had already been removed under cover of night. The town was quiet, the inhabitants still too frightened to leave the relative safety of their homes. The only people in the streets were soldiers and town officials, forced outside by duty and the Governor.

Zachariah was furious. His town had been sacked, his party had been ruined and his niece had been kidnapped. If the pirates had been aiming to offend him personally, they could not have done a more effective job. As if this wasn't enough, as a parting gift, the pirates had set fire to some of the warehouses near Fort Walker on the south-western edge of town. Through some miracle, the soldiers had been able to contain it before it spread and ate through all the supplies stored in that area, but in the confusion and the chaos that this had caused, no ships' crews had gathered in time to pursue the pirates and so no one knew where they had gone. The handful of prisoners that had been caught alive were not talking and so far, no one had been able to offer a decent suggestion where to begin the search. 

To top it all off, Zachariah's nephew, a Commodore of the Navy Royal and the one the Governor had intended to lead the hunt for the pirates, seemed to have vanished. No one had seen him since the night before, when he had been seen sneaking out from the party through the patio door. Zachariah would almost have been inclined to think that Castiel too had been kidnapped, but he suspected that that would be too much to hope for. Undoubtedly, the fool had gone off on some private rescue mission to find his sister and play the hero, and if that were the case, Zachariah would be sure to teach him the consequences of such rebellion, once he found the little twerp. 

Struggling to keep calm and not allow his fury to overflow, he turned to the person on his right, a large man with a bald head and a grave face, who wore the uniform of a naval officer. "Commander Uriel," Zachariah addressed him, "I want you to assemble a crew and hunt these pirates down. I expect you to find them, using whatever means necessary. I want their leaders brought to me alive. The rest you will show no mercy. Is that understood?"

Uriel nodded gravely and saluted him. As usual, his face revealed nothing of his thoughts, but Zachariah thought he saw a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Yes, Governor!" 

Zachariah nodded. He knew he could rely on Uriel. Though not the sort of person Zachariah would usually choose to associate with, the Commander had always seemed to share the Governor's fundamental values, far more than his nephew did. He knew that Uriel would not allow anything, be it man or conscience, stand in his way. With Uriel on the job, it was only a matter of time before the pirates were brought to justice. 

The Governor had turned to leave when he remembered something. "Oh, and Commander," he said in the tone of an afterthought, "see if you can't bring back my niece alive. That would be all!"

*****

Sam stood on the quarterdeck of the Impala and looked out across the harbour. Most of the crew had returned to the ship after their time on shore had been cut short by the pirates. Some were a bit worse for wear, having been caught in the fighting, but no one was grievously harmed. In fact, most of them were in a far better state than they usually were after having spent a night in port and even Ash was semi-rational this morning. The only person that was still unaccounted for was the captain and that made Sam worried. 

It wasn't like Dean to stay away from his ship this long. Even on the occasions when he spent the night with one of his many bedfellows, he had always returned to his beloved Impala before dawn, claiming that she was the only lady in whose arms he cared to fall asleep. After a night like this one, he ought to have been among the first to return to ensure the safety of the ship and the crew. That he would voluntarily stay away this long was unthinkable and that meant that something had prevented him from returning.

Surveying the damaged harbour, Sam felt the lump of fear in his stomach grow. What had happened to Dean? Had he been injured too badly to make it back to the ship or was it something even worse? Sam had heard the rumours about the Governor's niece and he knew that Dean had been with her last night. Dean may act all nonchalant and uncouth, but that wasn't who he really was. Dean cared about other people, perhaps too much sometimes, and if he saw someone in danger, he would not hesitate to step in, whether he knew them or not and regardless of the danger to himself. If he had been there when Anna Milton was taken, Sam dreaded to think what he might have done. 

"Please don't have let yourself be killed, Dean!" he murmured. 

Someone moved up to stand beside him at the rail. 

"Looks like we've got a visitor," Bobby said, pointing to a small row-boat that seemed to be heading straight for them. It held a single man, who rowed with strong and steady strokes. His back was towards them, so all they could ascertain about him was that his hair was dark and he wore a white shirt. 

Sam frowned. "Do you recognise him?" he asked. 

Bobby shook his head. "Never seen him before," he said. "By the looks of him, I'd say he's a sailor. No landlubber knows to handle a boat that smoothly. Judging by his posture, he's probably a naval officer."

"What would an officer of the navy want with us?"

Bobby shrugged. "How should I know? Though I'd be willing to bet my next share of plunder that it has something to do with yer idjit brother. He never was content just to stir up trouble; it always has to be royal trouble. Some days I wonder why he's still the captain."

Sam gave him a reproachful look, but there wasn't much force behind it. Bobby threatened mutiny about once a day, but Sam knew he'd be the first to lay down his life for his captain. The quartermaster was as a father to both him and Dean and there was no one on the ship that Sam trusted more.

"Do you think he brings news about Dean?" Sam asked, trying to sound casual. Judging by the sharp look Bobby threw him, he failed spectacularly.

"No, Sam!" Bobby said. "Don't even think it! Dean's fine. An idjit he may be, but he's a capable one, more than able to get himself out of any mess he's landed himself in. Lord knows he's had enough practice."

Sam gave a weak smile at that, but the lump in his stomach had turned to lead. Something had happened to Dean; he could feel it deep in his gut, and it was no coincidence that on the day that Dean had disappeared, a naval officer decided to pay them a visit.

He and Bobby walked over to the Jacob's ladder, which had been rolled up as a simple measure of security. The small boat reached them soon afterwards and the man inside stood up on steady legs, confirming Bobby's assessment of him as a sailor. He grabbed the rope hanging from the side of the ship and tied his boat to it to keep it from drifting. Only then did he look up at the two men standing on either side of the rolled up ladder.

The first thing Sam noticed was that the man's eyes were very blue and very bright. The second thing he noticed was that the man's white shirt was very fine and undoubtedly made of silk, although it was dirty and torn well beyond any hope of repair. The third thing, which he noticed only after a motion of the man's free hand drew his attention to it, was that he wore an amulet around his neck. Dean's amulet.

Bobby's arm was across his chest before Sam even had the time make the smallest move, otherwise he'd have jumped into the boat with the man and probably sent them both crashing into the water. The strange man just looked up at them with the same calm gaze, as if Sam's attempted lunge and Bobby's prevention of it had been expected. When he finally spoke, it was in a deep, gravelly voice that belied his serene exterior with the urgency in its tone. 

"You're Sam," he said, as if Sam hadn't known. "Dean sent me to find you. I must speak with you! Will you allow me to come on-board?"

Sam glanced at Bobby. They were not in the habit of allowing strangers on-board without explicit knowledge of their purpose there, but if this man knew what had happened to Dean...

Bobby merely shrugged. "You're the first mate," he said. "It's your call."

Sam nodded and looked down at the man again. Now that he knew to look for it, he could see the tension in the man's shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes, the drawn lines of his mouth. There was a gash in his left shoulder and a bruise blossoming on his cheek. Whoever he was, he had definitely been involved in the battles of the previous night. 

"Fine," Sam said, making his decision. "Come on up!"

He dropped down the ladder and watched as the man swiftly climbed it until he was nearly at the top. Sam leaned down to grab his hand and pull him up onto the deck. Up close, the man's eyes seemed even brighter, although the rest of his face clearly showed his exhaustion. 

"I would have come sooner," he said, "but I kept being - detained." He glanced at the wound in his shoulder. 

Sam looked at it too and suppressed a wince. The gash was deeper than he'd thought and still bleeding. "We should do something about that," he said and turned to his crew. "Has anyone seen the surgeon?"

"I think he's in his quarters," one of the crew-members offered.

"Conscious?" Bobby asked. He was answered by a shrug. 

Sam sighed and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "Well, don't just stand there! Go and get him! Wake him if you can and tell him to come find us in the Captain's quarters! Tell him to bring his supplies!"

"Aye aye!" The crewman hurried off.

Sam turned to Bobby. "I think you'd better come with us," he said. "I've a feeling you'll want to hear this."

*****

The Captain's quarters were located in a cabin below the quarterdeck in the aft of the ship. It had a number of small windows overlooking the waters behind the ship, which let in a fair amount of light compared to the rest of the ship's innards. There were two beds in the cabin, the second having been added when Dean inherited the ship and insisted that his brother would share his quarters. There was also a sort of desk, a table, two stools and a large chest, all of which had been securely nailed to the floor and walls.

Castiel was sitting on one of the narrow beds. He was trying not to grimace too visibly while the ship's surgeon, a twitchy fellow by the name of Shurley, sewed up his wound. Shurley had offered to simply clean and bind it until Castiel could return into town and find a real physician, but Castiel had told him that he didn't know when that would be and to just get on with it. He had not missed the look that had passed between Dean's brother and his quartermaster at that reply. 

Shurley, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to his first mate's concerns. He had shrugged and set about his work, handing Castiel a near-empty bottle of rum from which to drink. Rum wasn't a very good anaesthetic at the best of times and the small amount left in the bottle did little more than quench Castiel's thirst. This certainly wasn't the first time he'd needed a wound sutured, but on the previous occasions, he'd usually had a bit more to drink and the surgeon a bit less. To be fair, Shurley's hands were surprisingly steady, but the same could not be said for his eyes. Castiel knew the scar would not look pretty, but he didn't really care. He simply clenched his jaws and hoped the man would be quick about his work. 

"You said Dean sent you," Sam Winchester prompted when it became clear that Castiel would not speak. 

Dean's brother was not what Castiel had expected. Dean was by no means a small man; he was tall and broad enough to make Castiel feel shorter and lighter than his average build. He had therefore expected the younger Winchester to be of a similar build as his brother. Naturally, he had heard the rumours stating that Sam Winchester was a giant of a man, often claimed to be at least seven feet tall, but he'd heard similar rumours of Dean and so had put no credence in them. Now that he was sitting before Sam Winchester, who was towering over him, he could understand where those rumours had come from. It wasn't difficult to imagine the formidable impression this large man must make on the already terrified sailors of the ships that _The Impala_ had captured. Frowning down at Castiel, his eyes dark and stormy, clenching and unclenching his fist as though struggling to contain himself, he was not a man that Castiel would choose to anger. 

"He did," Castiel ground out through clenched teeth, " in a manner of speaking."

He took a final swig of the rum as Shurley muttered, "Almost done, just one more stitch."

The first mate and the quartermaster ignored the surgeon. They were both staring intently at Castiel and their expressions were not friendly. 

"What the devil's that supposed to mean?" the quartermaster growled. 

Shurley finished his work, tying and cutting the thread and put a cotton rag over the wound. Castiel nodded his thanks and the surgeon gave him a wavering smile, before turning his eyes to the other two men. "If that would be all?" he said, plainly itching to get out of the tense situation.

His first mate nodded at him. "Yes, thank you, Chuck!"

The man bowed his head and was out the door a moment later, muttering about rum. Castiel watched him go, wondering how best to explain the situation.

"Where is Dean?" Sam Winchester made the decision for him, cutting immediately to the heart of the matter. 

"I don't know. Gone. Taken."

"By the pirates?"

Castiel nodded. "Together with my sister Anna," he said. 

"The Governor's niece?" Castiel nodded again. "You're Castiel?"

Despite the circumstances, Castiel could not suppress a jolt of pleasure and his heart skipped a beat at the idea that Dean must have spoken about him to his brother. A fleeting thought crossed his mind to wonder what Dean had said, but it was quickly driven out by more pressing issues. 

"I am," he confirmed and watched as another meaningful look passed between the two men. 

The younger man turned away, mumbling something that sounded like, "I knew it," while the older man shook his head, muttering, "Bloody idjit!" 

When they turned back to Castiel, it was the older man who spoke, his face severe and his arms crossed. "Right!" he said. "I think you'd better tell us everything, starting at the beginning!"


	6. Making Plans

Dean woke up to find himself lying face-down on wooden boards. The gentle rocking motion of his surroundings confirmed that he was still on-board a ship. There was a pounding ache behind his eyes and his head felt as if it would split open with the slightest movement. The last thing he remembered was climbing up a Jacob's ladder onto the deck of one of the pirate ships and then someone had hit him over the head with something blunt and heavy. After that, everything had gone black. 

With a groan of pain, he lifted his head and tried to open his eyes. His vision was a bit blurry and when he moved his head too quickly, he felt as if he would throw up. He raised a hand to touch the lump on his head and that was when he realised that he was not alone. A man was sitting on the floor, just inside the angle of Dean's peripheral vision. He was dark and handsome, despite the fact that his head was covered with what looked like a few weeks of outgrowth and his beard could use some serious trimming. He was watching Dean with a strange expression on his face. He looked equal measures resigned and amused. When he saw Dean turn towards him, he spoke.

"It figures," he said. "When I finally get to see the infamous Dean Winchester behind bars, I'm sharing his cell." 

Dean had finally managed to get his body into something resembling a sitting position, but he was still clutching his head in an effort to hold it together. He felt as though he was looking at the world through a veil of pain. The ability to think clearly was still a far way off. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "Do I know you?"

The man gave a crooked grin. "No," he replied, "but I know you. I've been hunting you and your crew for the better part of a year. Captain Winchester of _The Impala_. Privateer in the service of the English crown." He snorted. "Fancy words for the Governor's lapdog pirate."

Dean raised his head and glared at the man. "I don't know who you are, friend, but you're dead wrong. I'm nobody's lapdog."

"And I'm not your _friend_ ," the man replied sharply. "But I notice you don't deny the pirate part."

Dean shrugged. "I guess it depends on who you ask. Still, it's a better job than most."

"Robbing poor sailors of their hard-earned money?"

"Robbing wealthy merchant companies of the profit they make through other men's sweat and labour," Dean corrected.

"It's still robbery," said the man, "not to mention murder."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. This was not a conversation he wanted to have while he felt as if there were a hundred drummers using his brain to beat out different rhythms. "I only kill the ones I have to," he replied.

"It never occurred to you that if you had a more honest profession you wouldn't have to kill anyone?"

Dean glanced at him with one eye. "Pot? Kettle? Black? If you've spent the better part of the last year hunting me, I doubt your job is much more _honest_."

This seemed to provoke the man, who glared at him darkly. "I hunt men like you to protect people from the grief and the suffering that you bring. I have dedicated my life to bringing pirates to justice and defending the innocent. I am _nothing_ like you."

"And yet here you are, sharing my cell. Funny how life works, isn't it?"

The man stared at him for a moment, before turning away. "Hilarious," he said.

"What ship are we on anyway?" Dean asks after a moment of silence. He didn't like the fact that he had no idea who his capturers were. It gave them an unfair advantage. 

The man eyes snapped back to his face and his expression was incredulous. "You mean to say you don't know?"

Dean shrugged. "I was at a party when these pirates barged in and took me and my lady. They didn't exactly stop to introduce themselves and I thought it might be rude to ask."

Still staring in disbelief, the man shook his head. "So you seriously don't know who they are?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The man shakes his head again. "You're in such deep trouble, you have no idea. This is _The Lilith_. It's captained by the most fearsome man ever to sail the seven seas. Even you appear as a benevolent man in comparison. He'll torture you just for the pleasure of hearing you scream, has turned mutilation into an art form and knows how to keep his victims alive for days as they beg him to kill them. I've heard rumours about him that would freeze the blood in your veins and the worst part is that they don't even come near the truth."

"He sounds charming," Dean said, struggling to keep his expression neutral. This was the man that had Anna? "I hope you'll be so kind as to introduce us."

The man chuckled grimly. "Oh, don't worry, Winchester! I'm sure you'll make his _close_ acquaintance."

"And does this charmer have a name?"

"His name is White. Captain Alastair White."

*****

Sam's frustration was mounting with every moment that passed without bringing them closer to finding Dean. He was standing in the captain's quarters looking out through one of the windows at the open sea beyond the harbour and wondering where his brother was. Shouldn't there be some brotherly bond to pull him in the right direction or at least to tell him if Dean was all right?

Behind him, Bobby was arguing with Castiel. It was weird having the Commodore aboard, talking about Dean as if he had a claim on him, as if he was part of Dean's family. Castiel hadn't told them anything about his and Dean's relationship besides letting them know that he had been with Dean when the pirates attacked, only to then be separated from him, but Sam wasn't stupid. He could read between the lines, and knowing what Dean's feelings were towards the other man, coupled with Castiel's tone, spelled out exactly what they had been doing. It was typical of Dean to get involved with a man as headstrong and unrelenting as he himself was. Sam was not looking forward to having to deal with Dean during what he was sure would be numerous lovers' spats, if the two of them managed to beat the odds and actually be together. Then again, if he had to do that, it would mean that Dean was safe and happy, so maybe he wouldn't mind all that much. 

The argument behind him continued. Castiel was adamant that they should speak to his uncle. He had told them about their brief conversation last night, which had convinced him that his uncle knew something about the attack. He was all for interrogating him through any means necessary to get answers, but Bobby thought it too unlikely that he would know enough to make it worth the time and effort. Sam suspected that the fact that Castiel's uncle was so closely connected with the Governor might also have contributed to his refusal to go ashore. Bobby's disdain for government officials was notorious and not always rational.

Castiel was equally set against Bobby's suggestion, which involved trusting the rumour mill. Bobby claimed that someone must know where the pirates made berth or at least have seen in which direction they had been headed; it was only a matter of asking the right people. During his many years on sea, he had made many contacts and he was prepared to make use of them. However, just as he distrusted men of office, Castiel was mistrusting of pirates and averse to relying on their information. There was also the fact that most of Bobby's contacts were in Tortuga, more than a day's travel north-west of Port Royal. Castiel seemed to think that sailing there would be a waste of time. Thus their current situation of impasse. 

"I don't care who the hell you are," Bobby growled, "but this ain't one of your ships, Commander, so you don't get to give the orders here."

Castiel's scowl seemed to deepen. "It's Commodore," he corrected in a cool voice, "and as far as I'm aware, it isn't your ship either. It's Dean's ship and in his absence, his brother gives the orders."

"You think I don't know that, you knuckle-headed mule? But this is _our_ ship, _our_ crew, _our_ captain we're talking about and you've no part in any of that. So why should we listen to anything you have to say?"

"Because my sister's life is also at stake and you're the only hope I have of finding her.”

Castiel's reply made Bobby pause. Sam could see why. In his own fear for Dean, he had almost forgotten that there was another person's life at stake, as well, and that that person probably meant as much to Castiel as Dean did to Sam. From what Dean had told him, Sam knew that Anna and Castiel Milton had been orphaned at a young age. They had been forced to leave their home and their native country to live with their uncle on a small island far from the more civilised world that they had been used to. Sam couldn't imagine what it must have been like for them to grow up in Port Royal, but he suspected that it hadn't been easy, especially since Zachariah didn't exactly seem like the most loving caretaker. It was likely that all they had was each other. In that respect, Sam could relate.

“Enough,” Sam said, when Bobby opened his mouth to continue the argument. He didn't raise his voice, but the other men still turned to look at him. It was obvious that they had been waiting for him to step in and settle the argument. He knew that it was his responsibility as acting captain to make these decisions, but he almost wished that he wouldn't have to. Dean's life depended on whatever choices he made and he couldn't help but fear that he would make the wrong ones. Still, he couldn't put it off any longer. They needed to act quickly. The pirates already had too big a head-start. 

“The Commodore is right,” he said, looking at Bobby. “We can't afford to waste time sailing in the wrong direction, especially since we can't even be sure that your people know anything. It's possible that Zachariah's brother doesn't know anything, either,” he continued, raising his voice over Bobby's objections, “but at least it shouldn't take that long to seek him out. Besides, we'll be going ashore anyway. since there's something we should do that neither of you seem to have thought of.”

The other two looked at him blankly. Sam almost rolled his eyes. “The prisoners,” he said. “Some of the pirates are sure to have been captured last night. There must be at least one among them who knows where the pirates were headed. If we can just get to them, we're bound to find the answers we seek.”

Bobby nodded, looking sheepish, as well he should. It wasn't like him to overlook something so obvious. “Aye, aye,” he said. “I'll inform the crew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short update. The next one will be a lot longer, once I've finished it. It may be a while, both for rl reasons and because I'm having trouble writing something that I'm happy with. Still, I'm hoping to have it written and posted within the month, at least.


	7. Looking for Answers

Castiel quickly came to realise that the manner in which Dean ran his ship was not the way that he was used to. In the Navy Royal, the lower ranking sailors were only told what they needed to know in order to do their job. They were trained to follow orders blindly and without question. A good soldier, whether on land or at sea, was one who did not think for himself. Not thinking meant not hesitating, and in battle, a moment of hesitation could get you killed.

Clearly, things were different on board _The Impala_. When Singer had said that he was going to inform the crew, he was not talking about the general sort of information that naval officers gave their crews, but he told them almost every detail.

The news that their captain had been kidnapped was met with both consternation and fury. It was obvious from the crew's reactions that Dean was well-liked, even loved. Castiel had spent enough time on the sea to know that few things spoke as clearly of a man's character as the feelings of his crew. Seeing the concern that Dean's crew felt for him made Castiel's own admiration for Dean grow. He felt even more anxious to rescue Dean from the pirate's vile clutches and make sure that he was safe. The idea that he could lose Dean now that he had finally begun to get to know him properly was unbearable.

The crew seemed willing to do whatever it took to get Dean back. There were many suggestions how to proceed and arguments broke out over which course of action was the best. To Castiel, it seemed like utter chaos. If a naval crew had behaved in such a manner, they would all have been punished severely. Singer and Sam just stood quietly, however, and allowed the mayhem to continue for a short while. Then Singer raised both his hands and his voice to silence them all.

“I know that you're all as eager as we are to get the Captain back,” he said, “but that's not going to happen while we stand here yapping like a bunch of frilly-haired poodles. Now, Sam and I – and the Commodore,” he added with some reluctance, “have come up with a plan. It will require some of you to go ashore with Sam and the Commodore. The rest of us will make preparations, so we're ready to depart when they return. We're sure to have a fight ahead of us, so Rufus, I want you to make sure that the cannons are ready, and that we have enough weapons and ammunition.” 

One of the older men nodded and began issuing orders to some of the other men around him. Singer looked around and his eyes fell on the surgeon, who was leaning against the railing with a half-full bottle of rum clutched in his hand.

“Chuck, you need to sober up and check that you have everything you need. If we're going into battle, there will be injuries.” 

The surgeon nodded. He looked sorrowfully at the bottle in his hand, before turning around and dropping it over the railing. Then he walked somewhat unsteadily over to the hatch that led below deck and disappeared from view.

“Garth, you and Andrew check our food supplies. We don't know how long we'll be gone, but I doubt we'll be returning to Port Royal soon.” 

The two young men gave Singer the thumbs up, before scrambling off towards the galley. Meanwhile, Singer turned to one of the three women on-board.

“Tamara, take some of the men and look the ship over. Check if it needs any more repairs and get them done quickly. The rest of you know what to do, so get to it.”

Castiel watched as the crew began to disperse to return to their stations. Before they could all leave, Sam called out, 

“Ash, Gordon, Jo! You're coming with me.”

The three people he'd called came up to them. Sam introduced them all to Castiel, referring to him as Dean's friend. Gordon gave him a charming smile when he shook his hand, but his eyes were hard and calculating. Castiel got the feeling that Gordon was not a man who trusted easily, but he wasn't sure if that applied to all strangers or just ones belonging to the navy. Ash, on the other hand, seemed perfectly sincere in his friendliness, clapping Castiel's shoulder and offering him a drink from his bottle of rum, ignoring Sam's glare. Castiel declined, feeling slightly bemused by Sam's choice of companions for their mission. The third crew member was a pretty woman with blonde hair and a bold gaze. Sam introduced her as Jo, the helmsman's daughter. She gave Castiel an appraising once-over, then gave him a bright grin.

“I'll say this for your brother,” she told Sam. “An arrogant, ignorant pig he may be, but he sure knows how to pick his _friends_.”

Castiel frowned and opened his mouth to defend Dean, but Sam silenced him with a shake of his head.

“Don't bother,” he said. “It's how Jo shows affection.” 

Jo snorted. “Sure,” she said. “Gotta be honest with the people we love, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever,” he said. “If you're quite done maligning the Captain, perhaps we can get started rescuing him.”

His words had an immediately sobering effect and Jo put a hand on his arm.

“We'll find him, Sam,” she told him, her voice steely. “And when we do, I'll show those pirates the depth of my affection. No one threatens the Captain but me.”

*****

Raphael's office was located next to the Governor's rooms in King's House. Since that was also apparently where Castiel stayed when he was in port, Sam had thought that that would make it easier for them to get inside, but Castiel had informed him that it actually made things harder. The last thing Castiel wanted was to run into the Governor, who he believed was looking for him. If Zachariah saw him, the best that Castiel could hope for was to be ordered to return to his ship. When Sam had asked what the worst case scenario was, Castiel had told him that it was just as likely that Zachariah would have him sent to the stocks. He had said it in a calm and neutral voice, as if it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do and no more than he deserved. Castiel was an officer of the Navy Royal and he should have reported for duty early that morning. Since he had failed to do so, Zachariah was well within his rights to punish him. 

To Sam, being sent to the stocks didn't seem like a proper punishment befitting a naval officer. It sounded more personal, which made him wonder what the relationship was like between Castiel and his uncle, as did the fact that Castiel had come to Sam instead of turning to his uncle when his sister was kidnapped. Surely the Governor had far more resources at his disposal to track down the kidnappers. So why had Castiel placed his trust in a small privateer crew whom he had never before met? When Sam had asked him that question, Castiel had frowned and hesitated, as if his own actions made as little sense to him as they did to Sam.

“Because Dean asked me to,” he'd said eventually, “and because it was the right thing to do. You had a right to know what had happened and no one else would have told you.”

“Not that I don't appreciate it,” Sam had said, “but you could have just sent a message or delivered it yourself before reporting for duty. What made you decide to come with us?”

Castiel had hesitated again, obviously thinking his answer over. Finally, he had said in a quiet voice, 

“Because you will do whatever it takes to get Dean and Anna back alive and safe.”

“Your uncle won't?”

“My uncle will do whatever it takes to find and punish the pirates. And he may try to get Anna back.” 

Castiel had left it at that. He hadn't said anything about the state in which Anna would be brought back or mentioned Dean, nor had Sam needed to ask. He had merely nodded and steered the topic back to their planning.

*****

As it turned out, getting to Raphael's office proved easier than Castiel had feared. When they reached the docks, they discovered that the narrow streets of Port Royal were bustling with activity. The inhabitants had obviously recovered from the shock of the attack and had finally dared to venture outside again. Some were workers, charged with clearing the debris, but most of the people that they encountered seemed to have come outside just to gawk at the damage and gossip with the neighbours. There were also those enterprising citizens who had decided to take advantage of the chaos and destruction to increase their own fortune. They met more than one person with their arms full of various loot.

A few times, they came across groups of soldiers and once, they spotted Zachariah striding towards them in the middle of a large group of people. Fortunately, he hadn't seen them yet, so they were able to duck into a side-alley and hide. To their relief, Zachariah and his followers were headed towards the harbour, which meant that they wouldn't risk running into him outside his office.

When they got to King's House, they found that the ground floor was crowded with people, wanting to speak to Zachariah. Zachariah's staff was busy trying to calm everyone down and assure them that the Governor would speak to them all, as soon as he got back. Hardly anyone even glanced at Sam and his friends as they made their way through the house to Raphael's office, though there were a few who noticed Castiel. A couple of them nodded at him and offered weak smiles of sympathy, obviously having heard about his sister, while others frowned. Castiel ignored them as he led Sam and the others up some stairs and down a hallway that apparently led to Zachariah and Raphael's private offices. He stopped outside a closed door.

“This is Raphael's office,” he said. 

He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Sam tried the handle. 

“It's locked,” he said. “I guess he isn't here.”

Castiel was frowning. 

“Do we wait?”

Sam shrugged. He looked at Jo. This was why he had insisted on bringing her along, for this very eventuality. 

“Jo?”

Jo had already opened her kit. 

“I'm on it,” she said. “Just keep watch.” 

She bent over the lock, a curtain of blonde hair falling down to obscure her actions. Moments later there was a click and the door swung open. Jo straightened and looked at the others. 

“After you,” she said.

Sam glanced at Castiel, who was staring at Jo. A part of Sam had expected him to protest against breaking into his uncle's office, but Castiel didn't look disapproving. His head was slightly tilted and he looked like he was trying to figure something out. When he caught Sam's gaze, he merely raised an eyebrow before striding past Jo into Raphael's office.

Unlike the rest of King's House, Raphael's office looked plain and unadorned. There was a large, sturdy desk standing in the middle of the floor with a large chair behind it and two smaller chairs in front of it. A number of chests and shelves lined two of the walls. The third wall was covered in maps, nautical charts and various other documents, which Sam began to examine. One of the maps was of the island that they were currently on and the surrounding waters. Along various parts of the coast, brief notes had been scribbled. There were numbers, letters and some strange symbols that Sam could not make sense of.

“Ash,” he said, “come here. See if you can interpret these notes.”

Ash put away the book that he had been leafing through and came to stand beside Sam. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and ran one finger along a heavily annotated stretch of coast. 

“Well, the numbers are easy,” he said. “They obviously indicate depth. The letters and the symbols are trickier, though.” He turned to Jo, who was standing by the desk. “Could you give me one of those papers and a pen? Thanks! I'll make a copy of this and bring it back to the ship. It'll probably take me a while to decipher it, though.”

“But you can do it?” Sam asked.

Ash just gave him a look, not even dignifying the question with a response. Sam grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, before turning to the others to see if they had found anything. Jo and Gordon were both going through the piles of papers on the desk. When he noticed Sam looking, Gordon beckoned him over. 

“Found something?” Sam asked.

Gordon shrugged.

“Nothing that'll help us find the Captain,” he said, “but I'd still say it's relevant to our interests.” He held up one of the papers, which looked like a letter, written in elegant, flowing script. “It seems the Queen wants peace with the Spanish. They've negotiated a peace treaty, though the Spanish have yet to sign it. Once they do, our letter of marque won't be worth a damn.”

Sam frowned. That was bad news. Without the legal sanction of the government to attack enemy ships, the crew of _The Impala_ would probably have to resort back to piracy again. It wouldn't make that much difference to their style of living, but the danger would increase considerably. They would no longer have the protection of the law, which would make them fair game for any pirate hunter out there. Any visit to port, English or otherwise, would entail a risk of being caught and hanged. 

“Why haven't the Spanish signed the treaty yet?” he asked.

Gordon searched through the pile of papers in front him and found another letter, written in smaller, blockier handwriting. 

“It seems they're waiting for some sort of peace offering. Apparently, whatever it is, it's currently kept here in Port Royal. They're shipping it to Madrid next month.” He bit his lip thoughtfully. “Hey, what if...”

“No!” Sam interrupted, knowing what Gordon was about to say and refusing to let him even make such a suggestion. “Are you insane? You want to prevent peace between two countries just to make our lives a little easier?”

Gordon scowled. “It was just an idea.”

Sam was about to tell him just how bad that idea was when the door creaked open behind him. He spun around and found himself face to face with a man whom he assumed to be Raphael. Their presence in his room had obviously startled him . Before he had time to recover and call the guards, Sam and Gordon grabbed him and pulled him fully into the room, while Jo closed the door behind him. Gordon had pulled a knife from his belt and was holding it against Raphael's throat as he and Sam pushed Raphael into the chair behind the desk. Raphael's eyes were dark as thunderclouds and they flashed with fury as they took in each of their faces, finally landing on that of his nephew.

“Castiel,” Raphael said. Though he spoke quietly, his voice was as cold steel. It was clear that this was not a man who was used to defiance or who accepted it readily. “What is this?”

Castiel didn't even blink. 

“We're looking for answers, Uncle.”

“Ah, yes.” Raphael leaned back in his chair, apparently untroubled by the knife against his throat. “This is about your sister and your lover.” When Castiel's eyes widened in surprise, Raphael smiled mirthlessly. “Yes, we know all about you and Captain Winchester, Castiel. Did you really think that no one would see you, sitting on top of the wall like that in plain sight, making a spectacle of yourself? You're lucky those pirates came when they did, before you could embarrass yourself and the family further. Unlike my brother, I never expected much from you, Castiel, but even I did not expect you to stoop quite that low. Openly throwing yourself at that arrogant, insolent pirate lout like some common whore. Have you no self-respect?”

“Enough,” Castiel said. He did not raise his voice, but his eyes and his stance clearly proclaimed his anger. Sam could relate. Hearing Raphael talk about Dean like that was making his blood boil. It was probably fortunate that Gordon was holding the knife. Sam wasn't sure he would have been able to keep it steady and accidents happen so easily.

“I am not here to get your blessing,” Castiel said. Raphael snorted, but kept silent. “I don't care what you think about me or Dean. I just want to find him and Anna, and I believe that you can help us with that. So you will tell us everything you know.”

Raphael did not reply. Instead he looked at Castiel with a disdainful smile on lips. Sam glanced at Gordon, who was standing slightly behind Raphael, still with the knife against his throat. Gordon nodded and took a step forward, so that Raphael could see him. He pressed the knife harder against Raphael's throat, until a trickle of blood began running from beneath the edge. Raphael could not quite suppress a grimace of pain. 

“What makes you think that I know anything?” he asked. “See, the difference between you and me, Castiel, is that I do not get mixed up with pirates.”

“And yet you knew that they had come for Dean.”

Raphael shrugged, being careful to contain the movement to his shoulders and not his neck. 

“Lucky guess.”

At his side, Gordon shifted impatiently. 

“This is taking too long,” he said. “Which should I break first, his fingers or his nose?”

Raphael glared up at him. 

“Touch me and you'll hang,” he said. He gave a crooked grin. “Not that you won't anyway, but there are ways of making the death slower and more painful.”

To Sam's astonishment, Gordon seemed to hesitate. There was no denying that Raphael's attitude and manners made him intimidating, and he was undoubtedly not a man to underestimate, but Gordon was usually not easily cowed. Especially when he was the one holding the weapon and the upper-hand, as he did now. Or at least he had been, but now he was lowering the knife and putting back into its sheath. 

His actions seemed to catch everyone by surprise. Castiel was frowning at him, while Ash and Jo were openly gaping. Raphael was beginning to smirk as he placed his hands on the desk to push himself to his feet. As soon as he began to move, however, Gordon's hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him back into his chair. He leaned over Raphael, the cold smile that had put fear into countless of their enemies spreading over his face. 

“See, the difference between you and me,” he said, mockingly repeating Raphael's words back at him, “is that I do not make empty threats.”

Then, before anyone could react, his fist connected with Raphael's nose, which made a sickening crunching sound. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam thought he detected a slight change of expression on Castiel's otherwise impassive face. Jo gasped and Ash cursed, moving forward to stand on Raphael's other side, across from Gordon. 

“Damn it, Gordon,” he said, “how many times do I have to tell you? Not the nose. It makes it difficult to interrogate them when they're clutching their face and choking on blood.” He pulled an old and worn handkerchief from his pocket and, forcing Raphael's hands away from his face, he pressed it lightly against his nose. “Don't lean your head back,” he told Raphael. “It'll make you sick and that'll just make this whole experience unpleasant for all of us.”

Jo was watching them with a look of mild disgust from where she was sitting on one of the chests. 

“Unlike all the fun we've been having so far,” she said drily.

Gordon gave her a bright grin, completely different from the cold smile he'd given Raphael. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “The fun is just beginning.”

Sam rolled his eyes, although there wasn't much feeling behind it. Gordon had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later, which had often caused tension between him and Sam. In this case, however, they were in perfect agreement. Sam couldn't deny that the sound of Raphael's nose breaking had given him some small amount of satisfaction. Still, he was supposed to be the one in charge and their banter was getting them nowhere. 

“Do you mind?” he said to Gordon, who shrugged and moved to stand slightly behind Raphael again. Sam leaned forward with his hands on Raphael's desk, until his eyes were on a level with the sitting man's. “Let me make this simple for you, Raphael. Either you tell us what we want to know right now or I allow my companions here” – he gestured to Gordon and Ash – “to get creative. And trust me, between the two of them, they have a lot of imagination. A broken nose will be the least of your worries when they're done with you. So if I were you, I'd start talking.”

Raphael was still holding Chuck's handkerchief pressed against his nose. He glared at Sam, but did not reply. 

“The Commodore asked you a question,” Sam said. “How did you know those pirates were after my brother?”

Raphael moved the handkerchief slightly, so he was able to speak past it.

“I told you. Lucky guess!”

“Wrong answer,” Sam said. “Try again!”

For a moment, it seemed as though Raphael would refuse. Then Gordon shifted slightly behind him. Raphael cast a slightly apprehensive look over his shoulder, then sighed.

“I know certain people,” he said. “People who know things. They told me that there were those who were looking for Captain Winchester. When the attack happened on the one night that _The Impala_ had been spotted in the harbour, it seemed to me that it was unlikely to be a coincidence.”

“Who are they?”

“I don't know,” Raphael replied. At Sam's distrustful look, he added more forcefully, “I don't. I couldn't even get a name out of my contacts. Whoever those pirates' leader is, he is powerful enough to frighten even my sources into silence. I doubt he's the kind of man whose affairs you want to meddle in.”

“What do they want with Dean?”

“I don't know. I told you – my sources were too frightened to tell me anything else. But if I were you, I'd prepare myself for the worst. Whatever they're after, I doubt it'll be good news for you or your brother.”

He and Sam stared at each other in silence for several long moments. Sam's instincts were telling him that Raphael was still hiding something, but he didn't know how to get it out of him. They couldn't exactly risk torturing him here, not without risking being caught, which they obviously couldn't afford. Sam was just about declare the whole thing a lost cause, when Castiel broke the silence.

“What about Anna?” he asked quietly.

Raphael transferred his gaze from Sam to Castiel and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“What do they want with Anna?” Castiel clarified, impatience hardening his tone.

“Well,” Raphael said, “I can't be sure, but my guess is that they'll do to her what that kind of men usually do to pretty and helpless girls that cross their paths. After that,” he shrugged, “kill her or hold her for ransom – your guess is as good as mine.”

Sam almost wasn't able to throw out his arm in time to prevent Castiel from drawing his sword and using it on Raphael. Undoubtedly, it would have been no more than Raphael deserved, but it would also have put the entire Navy Royal – or at least those men and ships that were under Zachariah's command – on their trail and they had enough to worry about already.

“Come on,” he said quietly, so only Castiel could hear him. “We'll get him some other day. Anna won't be helped by you being hanged for defending her honour.”

He waited until he felt the tension leave Castiel's body before he let him go. Then he turned back to Raphael.

“Don't think this is over,” he warned.

Their brief meeting had filled him with an intense feeling of contempt for the man. Otherwise, he might have been impressed with how dignified and intimidating Raphael managed to look, even with Ash's handkerchief pressed against his still bleeding nose.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he said in a voice that sounded as deep as the grave. His dark eyes fixed on Castiel, who was already turning to leave. “Run along now,” he said. “I promise to wait a while before I call the guard. But Castiel, I'm warning you. If you go with them now, you will have made your choice and you will face the consequences.”

Castiel stopped and turned back to face him again. His face was as expressionless as Raphael's.

“I'm sure I will,” he said, “but not today.”

With those words, he followed Ash and Gordon out of the room. Sam was just about to join them, when he noticed that Jo had stepped forward to Raphael's desk and was standing there, studying him. Raphael's eyes narrowed suspiciously, clearly as unsure as Sam of her intentions. Then, moving with a suddenness that surprised both the men, she leaned forward and punched Raphael in the face. When her fist connected with his already broken nose, Raphael didn't quite manage to choke back a groan of pain, but to Sam's surprise, he still did not call the guards. He simply stared as Jo gave him a bright grin.

“Just to show you that just because a girl is pretty, it doesn't make her helpless, and if you ever talk about a woman like that again, I will personally make sure that lose those parts that set you apart from us.”

Then she turned around and practically sauntered out of the room. The last thing Sam saw before closing the door behind them was the look of horror on Raphael's face.


End file.
